Mid-afternoon: cheap sunlight.
A house wren perches
in the fake, lit-up Christmas tree

decorating the porch. Cocks his head
and clamps his beak around
one skinny red bulb. Tugs—. 

A reminder of what can't be undone.
Like mountains, sliced onion, skinned lion.
Like what kind people do to kind people—

A mother telling her daughter:
I couldn't protect both you and your brother
from that man—and you're the type

who heals herself, who's always okay.
But don't forget the wren. No, forget

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